rainy season
by earlgreymilktea
Summary: Kuroo sometimes thinks Kenma lives in the rainy season. [kurokenmonth prompt: seasons]


**kurokenmonth prompt: seasons**

 **(it's v short and not really well written and sort of a vent fic bc i live in a rainy city and my mind rains sometimes just as often but...  
**trigger warnings for depression? it's not specified but)**

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Kuroo sometimes thinks Kenma lives in the rainy season.

Not like, literal rain clouds that follow his childhood friend around, but more of a metaphorical lingering grey. Kuroo's got nothing against rain, usually, since he grew up in a city that the rainy season visits for a couple months every year. He knows then to bring an umbrella everywhere he goes, and to always have an extra towel in his bag in the inevitable event that Kenma or himself gets wet. Unfortunately, the rainy season that makes a home out of his friend is something he cannot ward against.

Sometimes Kenma's eyes go all dim, a dull amber that refuses to shine, and not even Kuroo's incessant poking and nudging can bring the boy back from wherever he is. These times scare Kuroo much more than he lets on. Usually, Kenma is quiet and hard to socialize with, but somehow he always manages with Kuroo; the small nods, the slow blinks, the barest hints of a smile. But when the rainy season hits, it is as if the heavy clouds have clogged up his friend's mind and dragged him under to a place Kuroo cannot ever touch, cannot ever follow, and that frightens the third year more than any injury on court.

There's never any warning. With weather, Kuroo is conditioned to know clouds rolling in the distance means dressing warmer and grabbing an extra sweater for his absent-minded friend, but with Kenma's own storm clouds, there's no preparing or predicting. It comes and goes in wild intervals, sometimes lasting for a dreadfully long period and sometimes as quick as a summer flash storm. One moment Kenma is following behind him with his phone playing tinny music, and the next his friend is staring into space, the quiet around him heavy as gravity, colder than winter. Kuroo knows there is absolutely nothing he can do when the rainy season strikes, so he keeps his own quiet and offers Kenma his hand. He does what he does best: stay.

Usually when these clouds hover around the second year's mind, it is a slow, still coldness, if not numb and heavy. Sometimes, though, the rain comes down hard and relentless, almost violently, and Kuroo fears it might just wash his best friend away. He sits next to Kenma like always, leaving just enough space between them so Kenma can draw back if he wants to, but also so the boy knows that he isn't going anywhere. Kenma tries his hardest to hold the darkness in, keep the icy words from hitting Kuroo, but sometimes they still slip through. In the beginning Kuroo had stayed away, unable to ignore the jabs and jibes Kenma threw at him, but then after the rainy season eased off, he realized Kenma would distance himself further, for fear of harming his friend more. Kuroo finds he doesn't want that. Instead, now, he allows the words to slide past him, and opens his arms when the cold threatens to swallow Kenma whole, when the only thing keeping Kenma from drowning in his own rainy season is the meager warmth that Kuroo can offer.

Sometimes Kuroo hates the rainy season for taking away his Kenma. It hurts him to see the darkness eat away at his friend, the clouds that fogs his mind so much not even his handheld games garner more than a tired glimpse. It hurts him to hear the soft sniffles Kenma can't hide against his shoulder, to feel the slight dampness left over after the smaller boy's head has rolled off to the side after he's cried himself to sleep. Sometimes he hates the rainy season so much he finds himself shaking and cold as if the rain itself has seeped through his own bones. But he knows it is a part of Kenma, just as Kenma is a definite part of Kuroo, and Kuroo is determined to accept that as well. It just isn't always so easy.

The rainy season isn't always a monster. That isn't to say it's anything good or beautiful. No, far from it. Sometimes they end up curled up on Kenma's bed, the smaller boy's head resting in the crook between Kuroo's head and shoulder, and his arm wrapped securely around him. They don't talk much, as Kenma is drifting between awake and distant rain, but Kuroo is okay with remaining his friend's anchor. This usually happens when the rainy season is about ready to depart.

When the clouds dissipate into mist and lift from Kenma's mind, Kuroo can always tell, because those familiar eyes of his childhood friend are back to that bright, sharp gold that he loves so much. They don't talk about it, not after the first few seasons. Kenma follows Kuroo to practice as usual, and they walk home together as usual. But Kuroo would hold out his hand wordlessly, and Kenma, just as silently, would reach out and take it. And it's enough.

Kuroo sometimes thinks Kenma lives in his own rainy season. But, as with every rainy season, it will always, eventually, fade away.


End file.
